This is Why You Can't Have Nice Things
by tangle.of.ivy
Summary: What if Carlton Lassiter accidentally handcuffed himself to a desk? Luckily, backup is coming in the form of a lovely forensic analyst. (This was my entry for a "What If?" challenge.)


Head Detective Carlton Lassiter refrained from slamming his fist on his desk again in frustration. It wouldn't solve anything. And that very move was what had gotten him into this mess to begin with. Though if anyone had asked, he would have blamed shoddy handcuffs. That and, to nobody's surprise, Shawn Spencer.

He checked the time on the bottom of the computer screen again and groaned. It was now 1:26 am and he'd officially been stuck for over two hours. Glancing over at the policemen on the night shift across the open office area, he was relieved to see that they were still oblivious to his predicament. One was cleaning his weapon while debating with his partner over whose turn it was to make a food run, and several others were working their way through piles of paperwork. None of them seemed surprised to see him working this late. He'd done it often enough in the past. However, this time it was not by choice.

Carlton searched through his drawers for the umpteenth time and even checked his pockets again. He had to reach awkwardly around with his left hand to reach his opposite side. He found nothing useful. Sighing, he dug at the key hole with the thumb-tack he'd been using, but it was too short to do much of anything. He cursed Spencer under his breath.

Earlier that evening he had been continuing one of his favorite hobbies of proving wrong any manufacturer who claimed their handcuffs were unpickable. He'd attached one cuff to the handle of his desk drawer, then began using a paperclip on the lock. He wasn't quite stupid enough to cuff himself before having at least one or two trial runs first. As he'd worked, most of the officers had gone home for the night. Juliet had left early for a girl's night out with one of her friends. It was a fairly good pair of cuffs. He'd been stumped for over an hour.

The chief had a meeting with Spencer and Gus. Before they left, the psychic had passed by his desks to make a few of his characteristic bad puns before going to get corn dogs with his friend. Lassie had ignored him and continued with his task. It was only later, as he laid the second cuff on his desk to get a better look at the mechanisms that he saw the gift Spencer had left him. The large snow globe with a close-up and unflattering selfie of Spencer made him jump and let out a rather undignified squeak of terror. Carlton quickly kicked his trash can over and gave the globe a fearful push so that it tumbled into the bin with a crash.

After snapping at the officers who were looking over at him with concern, he wiped his face with a shaking hand. His anger soon replaced his fear.

"Dammit, Spencer!" he swore, slamming his right fist down on his desk.

Unfortunately for him, the second cuff was still laying open there. The foolish movement had two results. His wrist landed on the metal, causing the two claws to swiftly close together and lock with a snap. At the same time, the paperclip flew out of his hand and skittered across the floor, far out of reach.

He stared at the links that now connected him to his desk. After the shock wore off, he muttered a long string of curses under his breath and swore to get Spencer back for this. He'd been there ever since, using whatever he could find to pick the lock. However, his first thumb tack had broken off in the key hole, making it twice as difficult. He'd tried the ink cartridge of his pen, but it was too thick. He'd even used the lead from his mechanical pencil, which was of course too weak and broke right away. The second thumb tack was all he had left, and it was too short to reach the tumblers. His stomach grumbled as time wore on, but he stubbornly continued working at the problem.

"What have you done to yourself now?"

The amused, feminine voice surprised, but didn't startle him. He laid his head down on the edge of the desk and groaned childishly. This was not the predicament he would have chosen her to find him in.

Laughing, she came around his desk, and placed a soothing hand on his shoulder.

Emily Moore was a forensic analyst who worked in the lab across the hall from Woody's morgue. Carlton and her had known each other since high school. They'd gone their separate ways for college, but ended up back in Santa Barbara and reconnected years later. They both got jobs at the same police station and their friendship grew over years of working cases together. She handled analyzing the evidence and he caught the bad guys. After his separation from his wife, and then his divorce, Emily had helped him cope. She'd kept him from diving too deep into his work to escape his pain. She'd dragged him out for concerts, breakfast, swimming, work outs, movies, museums, even picnics. He loved his job. But eventually he conceded that he needed a break every now and then to keep his mind sharp when he was working.

Lately, he'd been enjoying her company more than usual and had only recently figured out why. He hadn't thought much about dating since his divorce, so it wasn't unusual that it had taken a while for him to diagnose his own symptoms. It wasn't just simple attraction. He'd invested all he had into making his marriage work and its failure had turned him even more cautious. Yet somehow, Miss Moore had wormed her way past his defenses. If it had been intentional, he would have pulled away the instant he realized his feelings for her. But he'd watched her carefully, and finally come to the conclusion that she was unaware of the effect she had on him. She didn't realize that her blunt honesty made him trust her without thought. Her comfort and empathy were never insincere, and her teasing could lighten his darkest moods.

However, despite these conclusions, he was still unsure about what he was going to do. He was pretty sure he knew what he _wanted_ to do about it. But whatever confidence he'd had with women had left him when his wife did. At the moment, he was at a stalemate; his heart arguing with his head. He was desperately hoping from a sign from her, which was rather hypocritical since it was her lack of an agenda that made her so appealing.

Emily's hand on his shoulder was a welcome touch. It soothed some of his anger that had been simmering for the last few hours. But he was still rather embarrassed at the situation she had found him in.

"I didn't DO anything. This is all Spencer's fault!"

"Isn't it always?"

"Pretty much."

"Did he leave you that?" She pointed to the broken snow globe in the trash.

Carlton ground his teeth. "Yeah."

Emily waited, but he didn't elaborate.

"Based on the chafing around your wrist, the obviously ineffectiveness of your lock picking tool, the paper clip I stepped on coming over here, and the noise coming from your stomach, I'd say you have been stuck here for quite a while."

"Always the analyst."

She chuckled at his wry tone.

"Where's the key."

"On top of the filing cabinet in the corner."

"Why didn't you ask someone to get it for you?"

He glared at her over his shoulder as she retrieved the key. She laughed at his expression.

"You're too stubborn for your own good."

"Thank you."

Emily rolled her eyes as she tried to unlock the cuffs. The key wouldn't fit all of the way into the hole.

"What did you do to these things?" she asked, gently turning his wrist. She took a small flashlight that was attached to her key ring and used it to get a better look. "Is that pencil lead? And…the point of another tack?"

"Maybe."

She sighed and went over to Juliet's desk. Rummaging around she came back with a lock picking kit.

"I gave her this for Christmas last year." She unrolled the pouch and pulled out several small tools. Kneeling beside his chair, she set to work on the lock.

Lassie let himself relax as he watched her work. He enjoyed the excuse to be near her. Her arm pressed against his and her hands gripped his wrist gently in order to get the best angle. Her hair released the smell of her raspberry shampoo.

"I thought you were spending the evening with Detective O'Hara." He said softly as she worked.

"Nah. She's hanging out with her friend Martha. They were going to get pedicures, eat, and go see a late movie."

"They didn't invite you?"

"They did. But I had already offered to help at a foster kid fundraiser. It was an ice cream social, and I was on too much of a sugar high to go to sleep when I got home. You're not the only one who racks up a lot of over-time. I saw your car in the parking lot and thought I'd stop by up here and say hi before going down to the lab."

Carlton smiled, crookedly.

"And to send me home to bed, no doubt."

She laughed.

"You were here before _I_ was this morning. You need to take a vacation."

"I hate vacation."

"Too bad. I'm going to talk you into taking one sometime soon. If only for the sake of the other detectives."

He raised an eyebrow at her.

"What would _I_ do on vacation."

"I don't know. Sleep in. Read a book. Go to the beach. Travel."

"Sounds boring."

"I guess it can be boring if you're alone all the time." She pondered the problem as she worked. "I've been planning on taking some time off. We could do some stuff together."

If he wasn't sitting so close to her, he may never have heard the slight note of forced casualness in her tone. It was barely enough to notice, but he latched onto it and probed.

"You'd want to spend your vacation with me?"

She carefully avoided his eye as she spoke. "Only if you want. Doesn't have to be anything big. I…I like hanging out with you."

Was this his sign? He wasn't sure. But suddenly, he didn't care. He was taking the chance.

"You said once that you went camping with your dad a lot as a kid. When was the last time you went?"

She paused in surprise.

"Not for at least six years. I thought you didn't like camping."

"I've been a few times. I don't think I did it right though."

"Why not?"

"Well I…I mostly went to test myself. You know, to see if I could survive out there if I needed to."

"And could you?"

"Yes. But I definitely didn't have fun doing it."

"Did you take much with you?"

"I took a tent and other equipment for the first few days. Then I left it behind and tried to make do with only a few items for a day or two, just to test myself."

Emily glanced back at him.

"I could give you a few pointers…if you'd like. I know a really great place to set up camp. There's a beautiful spot not too far away from it with a waterfall that you can hike to. Do you think you could put up with no work and just me for company for a few days?"

Carlton met her eyes and smiled a rare, genuine smile.

"Yes."

Emily smiled back, her eyes shining. She quickly turned back to her task, but not before Lassie saw her blush. His heart swelled and he couldn't stop himself from grinning broadly.

There was a click, and the cuff sprang open at last.

"There you go!" Emily examined the inside of the lock. "I'm afraid these cuffs are busted for good though. See? This is why you can't have nice things."

"You're nice."

The words escaped him before he thought better of it. Emily turned from putting away her tools to look at him. Now _he_ was the one blushing as he waited for her response. Slowly, she smiled.

"You want me?" she asked. Then her smile dropped as she sputtered. "That's not…I didn't mean it quite like that. I just meant…uh…"

Somehow, her hesitation swept his own away. He reached out and gently took her hands, which she was wringing in her discomfort.

"I'd like to spend some more time with you. After that…we'll see what we both think then. But I have high hopes."

He waited for her to smile at him before pulling her in for a hug. They'd embraced before, but this was different. She buried her face in his shirt collar and one of his hands came up to stroke her hair. He saw one or two of the detectives looking over at them, but found that he didn't care.

Feeling daring, he pressed a soft kiss to her hair.

"Thank you, Em."

Carlton felt, rather than saw, her smile.

"Anytime."


End file.
